Framework of Love
795 Words
Chapter VII: Framework of Love
Susane started pressuring Noel.
More dinners at expensive places. More designer bags. More attention. More control.
And Noel—now worn thin under the weight of the very life he chose—could do nothing but give in.
He missed deadlines. Skipped meetings. Barely noticed when Beatrice’s name came up in emails.
Beatrice, meanwhile, never noticed that he had stopped noticing. She had stopped expecting him to.
He was no longer a ghost that haunted her days—he was just someone she used to believe in.
Blake started driving her home—not because she asked, but because he noticed she stayed late too often. Always the last light on. Always buried in plans and reports.
The first time he offered, he stood by her desk without ceremony and said:
“It’s late. I don’t like leaving people behind in empty offices.”
Beatrice blinked, caught off guard. “Alright... but no weird music.”
He raised an eyebrow. “So no ‘80s power ballads?”
She smirked. “You’re cruel.”
He smiled. “You’ll live.”
It became routine. Their own quiet ritual.
Then came coffee breaks that lasted too long. Conversations that started with blueprints and ended in childhood memories. Dinners after long shifts. Shared glances that lingered just a second too long.
It wasn’t fire—it was something safer. Stronger. A foundation.
Blake never asked about Noel. He saw enough in her silences.
But one night, over takeout on her couch, she finally opened the door.
“I thought I’d never trust again,” she said, picking at the edge of her noodles. “After him... I honestly thought I was broken.”
Blake set his food down. “You weren’t broken. You were betrayed.”
She looked at him, eyes heavy with old sorrow. “It felt like it was my fault. Like... I wasn’t enough.”
He moved a little closer. “Don’t say that. Not again. You gave him everything, and he threw it away. That’s not on you. That’s on him.”
Her voice trembled. “Why are you so kind to me?”
Blake’s tone softened. “Because I’ve seen the way you fight for everything—your work, your people... even when you’re hurting. And because someone needed to be kind to you for once.”
She blinked hard, tears stinging.
“I’m not asking you to trust me,” he said. “Not yet. Just... let me stand beside you while you rebuild.”
And she did.
One evening, she found herself laughing—really laughing—at a stupid story he told about getting stuck in an elevator with a goat on a site visit in Morocco.
“You’re making that up,” she said through tears.
“I wish I was. The goat was calmer than I was.”
She covered her mouth, trying to breathe. “Why do you do that?”
“What?”
“Make me laugh like that.”
He smiled. “Because I love the sound.”
Beatrice looked at him, something in her chest cracking open just a little more.
Meanwhile, Noel forgot her birthday.
Not because he didn’t remember the date—he just couldn’t get away. Susane had planned a weekend getaway with spa treatments, and when he told her he had other things to do, she snapped.
“You’re still thinking about her, aren’t you?” Susane hissed.
“She’s not even in my life anymore,” Noel muttered, rubbing his temple.
But he didn’t sound convincing. Not even to himself.
And when he checked his phone that night and saw no message from Beatrice—no reminder, no lingering presence—something inside him felt emptier than usual.
Back in Beatrice’s world, things were quieter. Steadier.
They sat side-by-side in the car after a long day, moonlight slipping through the windshield.
“I used to think love was supposed to hurt,” she whispered, almost to herself.
Blake turned to her. “It never should.”
She looked at him. “I was terrified I wouldn’t find this again. That what I lost... was the best I’d ever have.”
Blake reached for her hand. “Beatrice... what you lost was never the best. It just came first.”
A tear slipped down her cheek. “I wanted someone who would choose me, always.”
“You have,” he said softly, squeezing her hand. “Right here. Every time. No matter what.”
She leaned into him, her head on his shoulder, and exhaled deeply—like she’d been holding her breath for years.
And slowly, like sunrise after a long storm, she let herself believe it.
She let herself begin again.
- Writer
